


Silent Plea

by impish_nature



Series: Blind Faith [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, brothers helping each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6839209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Blind Faith AU one shot!<br/>Ford can’t keep the memories at bay sometimes. He needs a helping hand to pull him out of the darkness. (Warnings: Panic attacks, flashbacks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Plea

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Kind of a sequel to Blind Rage based on @yourlocalviking‘s comic (http://yourlocalviking.tumblr.com/post/144169944877/its-okay-sixer-ive-got-you-some-days-the). It’s amazing! Go look!
> 
> The spiral continues! Some of Stan’s speech in the memories comes straight from @pinesinthewoods Blind Faith story and @yourlocalviking tagline.

The extra hours sleep Stan made Ford get of a night were both a blessing and a curse.

Most nights it was fine. With the added knowledge that Stan was uncomfortable with the camp fire and that he obviously didn’t need it to keep watch it became a routine to let it die in the night as he sat watch and then curl up into Stan’s side to keep warm whilst his brother took over. With the added security of having his brother within reaching distance, sometimes even just holding his hand as he slept he found that any embarrassment was quickly outweighed by the blank empty sleep that the actions induced.

As long as Stan was safe, he could rest without the demons coming back to taunt him.

Besides it made the days better as well, both of them getting enough sleep to start the day, both having breaks and rests when they needed instead of driving ever onwards. He began to wonder what had driven him to move them so fast in his sleep deprived state. There was nothing chasing them, nothing after them anymore. They could afford to stop and smell the flowers as it were. He could afford to look and admire and research everything new and interesting they came across as long as he kept Stan in the loop so that he wouldn’t get bored standing around waiting for him.

And so it had begun, he’d finally felt like they were healing, little by little, relearning one another after so many years apart. His heart was slowly beginning to lighten. The ever crushing guilt whenever he had to be Stan’s eyes was still there but the pain was dulling ever so slightly the more Stan stayed with him. The more Stan kept them both afloat by chattering away and asking curious questions like a child along for the ride.

It finally was beginning to feel like they were adventuring, like they’d always said they would do when they were kids.

Sure it was different to what they had had in mind and a lot had happened between then and now. But it was the thought that counted as Stan sat them down around another camp fire and span another of his tales about their travels as if they had an audience that neither of them could see. As he lost Ford in the moment as he saw things through Stan’s imagination and got a glimpse at the charismatic mind behind the words that he had missed for far too long.

Yes, most nights were blessing.

Other nights he was not so lucky to keep the memories at bay.

Something in the day would spook him, set him on edge. A noise here. A whisper there. Something rustling in the trees that could not be seen or a flicker of yellow - bright and sickly against the calm greens and blues of their surroundings that set his heart racing and his throat closing up. Or a cave they couldn’t escape wandering through, dark and claustrophobic and full of unbidden memories waiting to be dredged up as Stan led the way in the dark and unwittingly reminded him of another time in another place when his twin had done the same for the very first time.

He would listen to his brother’s tale around the warm campfire, let the heat and the large and distant night sky keep him grounded like nothing else could on those days. Let his brother’s captivating stories dull the fast pace his heart was setting even as they rested.

Until one night his eyes locked onto the flames of their little camp fire, close enough to feel the heat but far enough to not make Stan uncomfortable, and with the swaying of its flickering tendrils he felt his mind slip away from reality.

The world dimmed around him, the warm glow of the fire turned dark and blue as luminescent fauna took over the lighting of his memories.

Eyes stared at him from every dark corner, every shadow and he hunched in on himself, tried to close himself off from the sudden oppressive gloom.

And the fire that flickered in front of him melded from a camp fire to a small burning torch in his hand.

 

* * *

 

Stan knew he was rambling, knew that his stories probably didn’t make all that much sense considering he was having to make up 90% of it based on what he had heard and felt instead of what he had seen. How do you describe a scene through the taste it left on your mouth or the way the ground felt beneath your feet? But he didn’t mind all that much considering it wasn’t the first time it had happened. If anything it had become a habit, a well-worn routine to mumble what he thought was going on for Ford to add to the image in his head with the colour it desperately needed. And even if it didn’t reassure him in this way, he knew that it helped centre Ford and it gave him such a warm satisfied feeling to hear Ford chuckle beside him or nudge his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to make him stop whatever pun he’d started and would inevitably finish.

Even if Ford didn’t or couldn’t speak sometimes, he knew that it was helping in some way from the small actions. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the silence was probably worse for Ford.

It helped him too, in more ways than one.

A dark _and_ silent world got a bit too much otherwise.

But tonight felt different as his words started to trail away. The fire was still going. He knew that Ford hadn’t moved to douse it, he’d have heard it, would have felt the vibrations and yet the atmosphere was growing steadily colder with every breath he took.  

If he could see, he was sure his breath would be coming out an ice-touched fog, his fingers tingling with the frost.

“Ford?”

He bit his lip when there was no answer, just a deep dark silence that set his teeth on edge and his nerves sparking.

He would never tell Ford this but he hated it when Ford didn’t answer him, especially when he wasn’t close enough to reach out and touch. It made him feel completely alone in his small dark world. Made his mind wander down dangerous paths. _Has he finally given up and left you?_

So instead he spoke, kept up the fake charm as he always had, all in the hopes of something, _anything_ in return.

“Hey, buddy. Thought you were going to interject a bit more. You normally do when I start baiting you. And I was being fairly obvious with it this time.”

A small strange noise of anguish snapped him to attention. It was all he needed to know that this was a bad one. That this was one of those times when his brother not only couldn’t answer him but most probably wasn’t spiritually present either. He shuffled closer, felt the tremors radiating through the wood as his hands rested on the seat between them, gaining as much information as he could from the vibrations spreading up his arms.

He heard Ford shift, felt him close in on himself and he reached an arm out slowly, still not entirely sure just how close they were. He was hesitant too, scared that he was reading the signals wrong, that perhaps Ford needed a moment to himself and would freak out more if he touched him.

Stan’s reluctance disappeared as the log gave a particularly violent shudder beneath him.

If he wasn’t completely sure that he would have heard it, he would have almost have thought that Ford was crying.

And he couldn’t have that.

His hand found its mark, fingers skimming his brother’s arm and with that knowledge he closed the gap, hand coming down in a tight squeeze on his brother’s shoulder.

“It’s OK, Sixer, I’ve got you.”

 

* * *

 

_FORD!_

Ford curled up into a ball, buried his head into his knees to try and get away from the image. To stop seeing the burning hot embers at the end of the weapon that he had- the words wouldn’t even come to mind as a small strangled noise left him. He could bring up excuses all he wanted, let Stan reassure him that he hadn’t been in his right mind. That the demons whispering had done that to him but that didn’t stop him remembering every minute detail as if the demons were crowing at him for their deeds. _You did this, you did it, we just helped you along the way…_

He needed Stan. He needed his brother in that moment to drag him away from this but he couldn’t speak passed the fear gritting his teeth together painfully. The guilt tearing away at the back of his throat.

He couldn’t escape the memories.

Even as he covered his eyes and squashed his ears between his arms that rose up to twist around his knees in tight embrace, he could still hear the screams that tore through his core, tore through his reasoning of the situation. Protect your brother. Harm your brother. Keep him safe. It had all amounted to the same thing in that logical and yet so irrational moment of clarity.

He could still smell the smoke that had arisen, a cloying sharp smell that could never be recreated or forgotten. His stomach lurched nauseatingly as it filled his lungs.

Could still feel every dreadful and controlled movement of his hands as his brother struggled fruitlessly against him, his screams petering out along with his struggles as his world went black.

_Get away…GET AWAY FROM ME!_

Why on Earth was Stan still with him? A shudder went through him, so hard he was sure he must be rattling the log him and his brother sat on with the sobs that wouldn’t fully make themselves known. There were no tears, just this awful paralyzing shaking that left him in a dark pit of despair.

And yet a steady and solid hand landing on his shoulder when he hadn’t managed to ask for help, drove away the darkness ever so slightly. Just enough to bring him back to his senses and hear a voice through the white noise crackling in his ears.

“It’s OK, Sixer, I’ve got you.”

The voice mingled with the other voice, the same yet so different.

_FORD!_

_It’s OK, Sixer._

_Get away…_

_I’ve got you._

“Come on, bro, you can make it back to me. None of that’s real.”

Ford blinked against the dark, the small space he’d made for himself with his arms. With his eyes open the warm light of the camp fire was filtering through the cracks. The hand moved, his body moving with it in a silent plea but instead the hands came around him, his other shoulder being gripped as the first hand gripped his own hand, tight and reassuring.

Stan’s voice was light-hearted as he took a deep breath and squeezed back, moving his head to look up at his twin’s relieved face.

“Besides, you promised you’d tell me about that bird you saw earlier, remember? The one that sounded more like a cat wailing to me.”

Ford snorted, the sound hysterical and more of a grunt from the back of his throat. Somehow Stan knowing and yet not asking held a comfort of its own. He still shook though, could still feel the presence of the memories drawing in and he couldn’t work his mouth into helping Stan with his distraction.

“Not up for talking? Should I keep going then?”

Ford nodded, giving Stan’s hand a trembling squeeze at the same time as he buried his head back into his knees. He felt Stan shift closer, dragging him at the same time so that his arm was wrapped as far around him as possible and his side pressed close to his.

“Well, then I guess I’ll describe what I think the bird looked like and when you’re up for it you can tell me how wrong I was. You like doing that.”

A small chuckle vibrated silently through Ford’s chest and had Stan patting his arm in response.

It wasn’t much but it was a start.

And sometimes that was all they needed to keep moving forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Things do get better, promise. Remember ‘Seeing is Believing’ is set after all of this. I just wrote the heartwarming fluff first...


End file.
